


What Price

by Kayasurin



Series: Costs [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bunny has no idea how to deal with all Jack's revelations, Jack rambles so much, M/M, Mention of Death, Mention of punishment, Mostly sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can there be a cost, if you don't count the price?</p><p>Bunny was responsible for Jack's drowning, but that doesn't mean Jack's angry about it.</p><p>Continuation of Consequences</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Price

You're not even angry, that's the thing. At least, not about that one, big, flashing neon sign of a... thing.

Bunny killed you.

(Does it count, if the moon brought you back immediately after? Did you even die? Or just freeze and thaw? People can survive that, you've see them.)

He didn't mean to. You don't think anyone could mean to kill a child, not and guard them. On the other hand, you weren't exactly a child... but your sister certainly was, so.

But you're not angry. You probably should be. Tooth's disappointed and North's sad, and Sandy just keeps smiling at you, like you need reassurance.

Here's the thing, though.

You're kind of over the whole drowning thing. It took you two days. Only took that long because you had to scream at a few minions-being-stupid, but they're your minions, who is honestly surprised by that? There are pet store goldfish smarter than your minions. They're dumb. There is no getting around it or sugar coating it or being tactful - you have idiots for minions.

They're snowmen. Surprising absolutely no one.

If you hadn't drowned, you'd have died of old age. Or worse. Pennsylvania had been a little better about the whole "sodomy is illegal" thing, which meant they only killed you if you were caught doing it. People still knew what that confirmed bachelor was up to, and disapproved.

Some guys, you know, can fake it. Or are bi, and it's not faking it. There are gay men, even today, with wives and children and pretending, because... because. Because if they don't they'll be killed, they'll lose standing, they'll be shamed, they'll...

You aren't that... weak? Strong? Capable, maybe. You like women. Like looking at them, admiring them. The same way you like looking at mountains and snow covered forests. As a human, you'd kissed a few girls. It'd done about as much for you as kissing your sister's dolly.

So yeah. You'd have made the beast with two backs, with a guy. Probably that hot trader, the one you'd known since you'd been twelve. Every summer and autumn, bolts of cloth and raw dyes, ageless with his tanned, faintly leathery skin - not quite African in color, but a shade you've later come to associate with the darker Italians and certain groups of Muslims - and greying hair. He'd had a big nose, and ears like jug handles, he'd been buck-toothed and his hands and feet had looked just a bit too big for the rest of him.

He'd been beautiful to you, and you'd had his first kiss with a guy with him. Couldn't remember the man's name, now, but he'd been shy and sweet and adorable. How could you not?

And they would've been caught and stoned or drowned or hanged or something. Sodomy was illegal. And you were... you. Half-orphaned, disliked by your step-father and that whole side of the family, always causing trouble. Not rich, not enough to be eccentric instead of immoral.

Even then, if you hadn't been caught, if you'd survived and lived to old age... you'd still be dead.

It was three centuries ago. Centuries. You could have lived until sixty or something, and then you'd be a spirit with a constant backache and bad knees and arthritic hands.

You'd rather be forever nineteen, thank you, even if it does come with endless hormones and never finishing that growth spurt.

So no, you're not angry about the whole drowning thing. You've repeated yourself fourteen times now, and been talking for about... almost an hour, look at that, without interruption. Bunny started looking a little stunned around the half-hour mark, and now his eyes are glazing, but you keep talking because you need him to believe you.

You're not even sure why, you just do. So you go with it. Going with it has mostly worked for you over the decades.

"It was just the shock," you say, leaning into Bunny's personal space. Bunny always smells good, like flowers and wood shavings and warm fur, so you just want to wrap up in him like he's a warm, squishy blanket. You might have a few problems. Maybe.

"I mean, just, look at it from my point of view. I thought it was natural, right, or my fault, and it's not yours either. It was whoever froze the lake in the first place. It would've melted long before I took my sister skating if someone hadn't done a mojo-whammy on it. You wouldn't have melted it if it'd already been melted. So yeah, not your fault."

Bunny blinks and shakes himself, and eyes you like he's checking to see if the word vomit's done and over with. "I don't wanna be in your headspace, mate," he says. "It's probably chaotic."

You stop and think about it, and then shrug. Yeah, kind of, probably. It's the only headspace you've ever known, though. Probably ADHD, if they had that back in the 1700's. "So, you believe me?"

"I... don't even know, were you forgiving me or absolving me of responsibility?"

"Both," you say, and wander away from the conversation. There's a bunch of carvings on the wall hidden by hanging moss-stuff. It's green and stringy and blocks your view but not enough, so you brush it aside and freeze it in place, the better to look.

Bunny makes angry sounds over the moss, but you ignore him. The squawking is familiar, but you've been annoying him off and on for two and a half centuries, give or take a major fight or two. As much as you want to laugh and pet his ears, you just as much don't want to get punched in the face.

"Are these you?"

"No," Bunny says, and sees the moment a thousand questions spawn. "Wait, yes. Why are you still here?"

You grin, because there's only a few things - like, _three_ \- you love more than getting under Bunny's fur and breaking that perfect image. And two of the things you love involve Bunny anyways, watching him fight and the rare hug he bestows on you, like a blessing from a particularly Australian god.

"I like it here. It's pretty."

Bunny looks torn between pride at the compliment and horror at your continued presence. You wander away from the carvings, aiming at an interesting rock formation or maybe a nearby egg golem, you haven't decided which yet. Bunny hurries after you, grumbling.

"I was going to hunt down the spirit," you say, spinning on him. You've asked Tooth about your memory issues, but she said they were natural and suggested you might have low iron. Except then you had North test it and you really don't. So whatever. Go with it.

Bunny almost stumbles over you, skipping to one side. "What? Which spirit?"

"The one that froze the lake. My lake." You think about it for, what, two seconds? "The lake where I skipped getting caught at sodomy and went straight to drowning."

Bunny stares at you, definitely horrified. "Sodo - _what_?"

"Punishment for homosexuality in the 1700's," you explain. Look at you, you're being helpful. "I can't remember if the punishment was being stoned to death, or drowned, or hanged, but you died."

Bunny rubs his hands over his face. You stare at his shoulders, because they're there and fluffy and broad. You've always liked broad shoulders, if it comes with someone who'll put up with your mania.

Bunny mostly does. At least, your fights have never been really serious, and winter spirits do serious. A mild argument involves limb loss. Sometimes just fingers and toes, but sometimes entire arms or legs. You've never had that happen - well, you lost your pinkie toe once, but that doesn't exactly count. There was a bear trap involved.

And it grew back, so it doesn't count.

"Right," Bunny growls. "Let's back up a bit. You want to find the winter spirit who's work I undid, back when you fell through the ice. And you'll... what, when you find them?"

You hesitate. "Give them a stern talking to?" you ask. That's probably the right answer. It's the one your mother would want, your pastor, the one Sandy would expect. Tooth would probably go with a punch and lecture, and North would go with a _stab_ and lecture. Other winter spirits would say 'kill the bastard and dance on his corpse', but you're trying not to be a complete crazy-cakes like the rest of your breed.

Bunny gives you a stern look. "I was thinking installing the fear of, well, you in whoever it was... but I'm not sure you're very scary."

"You've never properly fought me," you point out. Ruefully. There's a reason you did so poorly against Pitch. You're used to going claw to claw and fang to fang, and someone who doesn't leap with suicidal enthusiasm into battle is... well. You're not used to that sort of fighting, though you're getting better.

Slowly, but still.

Bunny sighs, but tilts his head in a half-nod. He's fought winter spirits before, you know, so he obviously gets it. "You'll take me, when you find them." And when you look confused, because you are, he elaborates, "I was indirectly responsible, by your logic. At least partly. I want to get my own licks in."

Yeah, okay, fair enough. You agree.

"Mind a few questions?" Bunny asks, steering you away from the egg golem you were slowly inching towards. Darn.

"Sure," you say. "About what?"

"You, uh, you mentioned a trader?"

When, when, oh - right. During the rant. "He wasn't married," you say, and hunch your shoulders. "I checked."

Bunny chuckles, and it's a nice sound. "What was his name?"

You're at least partly sure that's just Bunny distracting you from shiny and breakable things, but you give it honest thought. "Aster," you say finally, noticing but ignoring the way Bunny freezes. You keep walking, because why not? "I miss him. He was pretty. And I liked grabbing his ass," you add, and turn. You have to wonder, does Bunny make expressions as funny as North's and Tooth's?

(You can't shock Sandy. You've tried. He just ups the ante until you can't match him, and then you're left with mental images that are actually pretty freaky, and nowhere to hide from them.)

Bunny looks shocked, but not like the others. He looks like Jack had just spoken in whatever language Bunny swears in, like he can't believe it but kind of has to anyways.

Bunny clears his throat, and then buries his face in his hands. He's laughing, probably. Shoulders are shaking, and there's muffled sounds, anyways.

You lean forwards. "Bunny?" you ask, ready to spring away if he turns rabid.

He seems to blur in front of your eyes, and then he's looking up, skin dark and tanned and faintly leathery, crinkles around his eyes (they'd never been a normal shade of green, you think faintly) as he smiles. He has buck teeth and ears like jug handles, and the hand he stretches towards you looks just a little too big for the rest of him.

"Shapeshifter," he says, eyebrows pushing together, eyes hopeful. "I, uh, I never connected...? You. And you. Um."

"So how many boys did you kiss?" you ask, because you need to know. Bunny can make himself human. Seen. Bunny had been a trader, and returned your kisses with interest, and called himself Aster, and squeaked when you'd grabbed his butt.

"Just. One. Uh, on Earth," he says, and look away. His hand starts to fall, arm dropping back to his side.

You grab his hand, and hold on with as much strength as you dare. Bunny jumps and stares at you, a grin starting to tug the corners of his mouth.

"Wanna make out some?" you ask.

"Are you angry with me?"

You think about it, for just long enough that he starts looking nervous. "How could you know?" you ask, and shrug. "No, I'm not angry. I will be if you say no to the make outs."

"I enjoyed them."

"Good. You're supposed to." You tug on his hand, and start dragging him to the river bank. "Do giant rabbits kiss?"

"Pooka," he corrects you. "And no. We nuzzle."

You hum, and nod. "Great. After we've kissed a bunch, switch back and we'll do that some."

Bunny stops walking, so you look back at him. You smile. "What, you thought I annoyed your furry ass because I liked getting punched in the face?"

As it turns out, Bunny's not able to hold onto the human shape if he laughs until he falls over. You watch, preening just a little, as human guffaws turn into an alien (and later, you will snicker to yourself when certain facts are revealed) sounding chittering.

And, you find, Pooka nuzzles are different from kissing, but just as fun.

**Author's Note:**

> A while back, I wrote Consequences. People felt very sad and wished for a sequel, one with a happy ending. Here's the unedited happy ending you asked for.


End file.
